Wednesday, March 13, 2013

A MIGHTY WIND

Our back yard

When November rolled into
December, back in 2011, we were beset with winds unlike we’ve seen for decades, some say even a century,
here in our sleepy little town of Farmington, Utah. We pride ourselves in our
ability to handle the east winds that have for generations howled at our barn
doors and bent these old scrub oak trees until they look like massive green
waves flowing westward.We’ve seen
trains blown off their tracks, eighteen wheelers upended on the side of the
freeway, and road signs bent like aluminum cans at the Farmington exits.

But
this one was a show stopper, this wind of winter 2011. Most of our county was
left in darkness for days. We huddled in blankets around our fireplaces, if we
had them, while the wind whipped at our doorsteps. I stood at our family room
windows, watching our massive evergreen trees topple, feeling the bones of our
house rattle, praying our loved ones were safe.It was a strange and distressing moment in time. Outside, the ear piercing whistle pulsed and pulsed,
driving us to the edge of madness.

And then it was over.The wind ceased.From my window perch I watched as one by one
our neighbors and friends came out to the streets, assessing the damage,
gathering up branches and fence pieces and roof tiles. It reminded me of those
old black and white war movies, where survivors appear one by one from their
hiding places after a monstrous battle. I joined my friends on the street.
Together we pieced back what was repairable and took the rest to the curbside.
Stunned at the massive loss of flora, we held our own grief because we knew our
neighbors had suffered the same. We lost five beautiful pine trees, over 25
feet tall. We had planted them twenty years ago and they had grown into a large gentle wall of green behind our house.Even now, all this time
later, I grieve the loss of the privacy they had given us.I miss their loveliness as their arms cradled
freshly fallen snow.

The storm hit on Thursday and Friday,
ceasing her fury on Saturday.

Our church yard

Sunday came, and with it the
foreboding news of an impending snow storm. The streets were covered with
fallen trees and debris, so much so that vehicles could not get around
them.Power lines were precariously
hanging.Cars were crushed under fallen
limbs. A snowfall would be disastrous on top of all the debris. We are a close knit community in Zion, with a lot of faith and religious
dedication. Most of us in this neck of the woods are members of the Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, commonly known as Mormons. A rare decision
was made to cancel church on Sunday.Instead, we gathered in the chapel in our dungarees, our warm hats and
work gloves.We paused to pray, then we
set to work.

Our Bishop calls us together on Sunday morning.

Those who could heft the
weight of massive branches moved through the streets loading volunteer
trailers.Others tended children, or
cooked meals for the workers.

Faithful saints labor in the field.

I made three massive pots of soup and stew while
I tended grandchildren and my able bodied children labored in the cold. Dave
came in from working to help me haul the vittles over to the church. We loaded the van with food and children and drove up the
cul-de-sac and down Summerwood Road.We passed our son in law Jordon’s trailer,
loaded to overflowing with tree branches and pieces of fencing. Our daughter Annie
stood at the side, her gloved hand on her hip, wiping her forehead.All around us were the sounds of chain saws
growling.Paul Rees had brought his
large hauling trucks down from Morgan.Brad Palmer’s backhoe dipped its shovel into the pile of gathered
branches and lifted them into the truck bed. Children followed behind with
rakes and brooms.

What became of the trees in our back yard.

In an intentional moment of
pause, Dave and I scanned the scene, touched to tears at the united effort of
neighbor helping neighbor.The first
Sunday of every month our church holds a Fast and Testimony meeting.Our congregation, having fasted for two
meals, is invited to come to the pulpit and witness about our faith in our Savior.
It’s one of the beautiful and unique aspects of our church that I love. This
was December 4th and it would have been Fast and Testimony meeting that
morning.But on this particular day
witnesses were born not by word, but by deed.

Brigham Young once said “More
testimonies are gained on the feet than on the knees.”

God's witnesses.

Though I miss those grand old
trees that lined the fence in our back yard, I am reminded every time I notice the
empty space that united hands did in one day’s work what
would have cost the government a pretty penny to get done. I’m reminded how
blessed we are to live in this place, where the beauty is not only in the
surroundings but in the people who call Farmington home.

The line-up of trailers at the Davis County dump site was over a mile long. All volunteers.